Yesterday I gave my warning, and today I gave my two-weeks notice, so to speak.
There are so many conflicts crashing through my skull, but in the end, all the cons have finally out-weighed the pros. My joints are getting worse, the pain is more steady and increasing, and my mental state has been deteriorating after I was striped of my department in which I found pride in a job well done.
Could I rant about all the flaws in the system? You bet your ass I could. This post would take me days to complete if I did, but it would do no good; nothing would change. I just need to walk away from it as peacefully as I can.
Can’t help but feel I’ll be under a microscope for those last two weeks, to see if I’ll attempt to steal or damage something. Guess some petty people do that because working retail can expose you to some distressing aspects of humanity as a whole.
This is not at all to say I’m flawless; I’m so bloody flawed, and my brain won’t let me forget it. But I’m too old to deal with some of this childish shit with a smile as if I’m offered a slice of home-made apple pie. Naw, that right there is moose-turd pie, but I ain’t goin’ ta compliment it or cook, just walk away.
Some might wonder where the hell was I going with that. If you truly care, go look up Utah Phillips’ Moose Turd Pie story and get ready for one hell of a good tale. There are few great story-tellers around like him anymore, if at all.
Not sure what I’m going to do. I will defiantly have more time with my kids. I should have more energy to get back to more house cleaning and yard work and meal prep. Because now, I come home from work with so much pain I don’t even have the energy to play a video game, I just crash. If I have to force myself to run errands, I don’t run so much as slowly hobble like someone 30 years my senior.
Sure, it was nice to have some extra spending cash, but it’s just not worth it any more. Money isn’t everything. At some point, these disabilities will make it impossible for me to walk; there’s no benefit in speeding it along by pushing myself through the pain when I can no longer experience the feeling of a job well done.
Maybe in our capitalist society that might sound like a bullshit excuse to some. After all, our society has long taught us to sacrifice health and happiness for the oh-so-coveted dollar, even if the measly pay barely covers rent. The CEOs (plantation owners) are rich, so fuck the poor (slaves). Those poor just need to work harder for their scraps so the rich can become richer.
Fuck it!
I’ll stop there before this deteriorates further. Let’s just say, there should be more unions in our country. Wish I felt like I could make that happen.